


Almost Home (Hope There Would Be A Second Chance)

by pallorsomnium



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Violence, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/pseuds/pallorsomnium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's magic is discovered by Uther, and when he is killed, those he left behind must learn to move on. But without Merlin, the land is dying, and something must be done before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Home (Hope There Would Be A Second Chance)

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this two years ago, hence the canon divergence. Since I have quite a few WIPs, please bear with me, because updates will probably be a bit slow!
> 
> Un-beta'd for the moment.

In the end, Merlin’s magic isn’t revealed after a flashy rescue, not through a split-second decision made to prevent an attack on Arthur or Camelot, as he had anticipated. Instead, it goes down quite simply, stupidly, instinctively.

He is cleaning Arthur’s floors when it happens. When he knocks over the bucket, and his magic shoots out of him unbidden, reversing the bucket’s fall and returning the water spilled.

But it is at that moment when Uther walks into the room, looking for his son who hasn’t come back from training yet.

Before Merlin can react, he finds a blade plunged into his stomach, Uther looking at him with mad rage and disgust. The king pulled his sword out from Merlin’s gut and Merlin gasps, the pain burning through him and out with his blood bringing him to the ground.

And as darkness closed in on him, Merlin thinks of Arthur—his amazing, brilliant prat—and wishes he could have seen him one last time instead of Uther’s retreating footsteps. He wonders where destiny has gone wrong. 

 

* * *

 

Merlin isn’t waiting for him when training ends for the day, but it isn’t something that bothers Arthur—much. He knows how much Merlin adores watching him train, like the absolute _girl_ Merlin really is, but he also knows that sometimes Merlin would be busy helping Gaius if not doing the chores Arthur gave him. Other times, Merlin would be waiting for Arthur in his chambers with a warm bath and a smug little smile on his face.

He doesn’t find Merlin in the physician’s quarters or the armory, which leaves only Arthur’s own chambers. But when he heads there, guards block him from the doors.

“Sire, it’s best you do not enter,” one of the guards say, raising a hesitant hand to hold him back.

“Why not?” he demands, glaring.

“It’s best if you do not,” the guard repeats.

“I can bloody well enter my own chambers. Move aside!” He pushes past the two guards, but soon freezes in his tracks, eyes immediately drawn the blood-stained floor a pair of servants is trying to clean.

Right then, he knows what has happened.

 _Merlin_.

He staggers back a step, a wave of nausea hitting him, but then numbness swiftly settles in, the same detached calmness he feels in battle. He welcomes it, because he knows his heart is shattering to pieces, and the detachment taking over his body is the only thing keeping him from falling apart as well.

He spins around on his heels, storming out the door and ignoring the calls of the guards and servants. He has but one destination in mind. 

 

* * *

 

Uther sits waiting on his throne. Arthur is surely done with training by now. It would only be minutes before his son would come looking for him. Given how attached Arthur had been to the boy— _sorcerer_ , Arthur would soon notice the criminal’s absence. Whether Arthur had known of his manservant’s treachery, he would come running to Uther either way.

Sure enough, the throne room doors are soon flung open, and Arthur comes charging into the room.

“Arthur, I’ve been waiting for you,” Uther says. He had hoped that Arthur had not known of the sorcerer’s treachery, but seeing his son now, stalking across the throne room with a look of cool fury Uther has never seen before, that hope seems to be a lost one.

“What have you done with him?”

“The boy was a sorcerer,” Uther states, and there is no flash of surprise on his son’s face. “Did you know?” he asks anyways.

“No,” Arthur says, but his burning gaze says yes. Uther cannot decide what is worse, that Arthur willfully harbored a sorcerer or that he would so blatantly lie to Uther’s face.

“The boy was a sorcerer. He broke the law, and I dealt with him.”

“So you killed him without even a trial?” Arthur does not draw his sword, but his hand does fall to the hilt while the other grabs Uther’s collar. At that moment, the guards that had been hanging back, unsure what to do, rush forward, grabbing hold of their prince’s arms. Uther breaks Arthur’s hold on him and tries not to think of that day a year ago, when his son had actually held a sword to his throat. Ironically, it had been the sorcerer boy to stay Arthur’s hand.

“That sorcerer infiltrated the heart of Camelot and lived right under our noses for three years,” he says as the guards pull Arthur away from him. Thankfully, Arthur does not struggle against them.

“Merlin has been nothing but a loyal servant and friend, to me and Camelot. Without him, I would be dead many times over. _Camelot_ would have fallen a long time ago!”

“He was only biding his time, to seize Camelot for himself.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Magic corrupts all. The boy was evil,” Uther bits out. Just how far has the boy tainted his son?

“It is _you_ who have become corrupted, Father!” Arthur shouts, pulling at the four guards restraining him as if to charge at Uther. “Your hatred leaves you blinded and the kingdom soaked in the blood of its own people. Your reign is built on the fear and suffering of the people, and one day, you will pay the price for it.”

He slaps Arthur hard across the face.

He is shaken by his own son’s words. But this man before him, he tells himself, is not his son—can’t possibly be his son. His son would never say such a thing to him.

 “You are not to speak to me in such a way. It is clear that the boy has enchanted you. You will be confined in the dungeons for a week,” Uther orders. “Hopefully by the time you are released, you will see reason again.”

Arthur does not say a word in reply, simply fixes him an almost pitying look before turning away. As the guards take his son away, Uther ignores the small voice in his head pointing out that any enchantments the sorcerer placed would have been lifted with his death. He wonders where the Arthur he knew, the son who had always looked for his approval and never dared oppose him, has gone. 

 

* * *

 

Morgana is at the door to her chambers when Gwen comes flying down the hall calling after here. Gwen looks a complete mess, hair wild and tears staining her face. The last time she had seen Gwen so, Tom had been killed.

“Gwen, Gwen, what’s the matter?” Morgana asks, reaching out to wipe the tears from her maid’s face. Gwen shakes her head, tears still falling. She takes Morgana’s hands and holds them tightly. Morgana doesn’t know if it is to calm herself or to prepare Morgana for her next words. Her maid stays silent for a few minutes, breathing deeply with her head down. When Gwen lifts her head again, her face, though wet with tears, is calm—hard, a mixture of anger, sadness and strength.

“Merlin…The king…The king has killed Merlin,” Gwen says.

And the world seems to come to a halt at her words.

“What?!” Morgana gasps, and Gwen steadies her when she sways on her feet.

“He didn’t say why, but…everyone is saying that Merlin, Merlin was a sorcerer.”

Suddenly, the subtle support and advice Merlin has given Morgana to help her with her dreams make perfect sense.

But Merlin, killed by Uther? Merlin, _dead_? That sick rage she feels after every innocent death brought along by Uther boils inside of her. She wants to go charging into the throne room and demand for Uther to repent for his sins, for the blood of thousands on his hands. But she has done that already, and ended up in the dungeons for her efforts. But now, _Merlin_ , sweet and forever loyal Merlin, is dead. Because of Uther. And Arth—

“Oh, gods, Arthur,” she realizes. “Why didn’t Arthur stop him? Where is Arthur?”

“Arthur wasn’t there when…when it happened. The king has thrown him in the dungeons.”

It’s not the first time Uther has thrown his own son in the dungeons, but this time is different, and Morgana is torn between railing at the king and running to see how Arthur fared.

“The king won’t allow anyone to see him, not even the knights. Sir Leon has tried,” Gwen then says, taking one of her choices away. Uther it is then.

“Gwen, go find out more. Perhaps try and get to Arthur if you can,” Morgana tells her, and Gwen nods, hurrying away with resolute purpose in her steps. Morgana turns away from her chambers and heads straight for the throne room. 

 

* * *

 

They find that, as a servant, Gwen is able to see Arthur. She talks the kitchen staff into letting her bring him his meals— though it isn’t difficult, not when she’s the servant closest to the prince now that Merlin is gone. No one speaks of Merlin, no one dares utter his name and put words to their thoughts. But he’s there, always on their minds. Often, Gwen expects to see Merlin come crashing into Morgana’s room or her home, bright and chipper, but he never shows, and his absence just hurts even more. But she still pushes on with life, they all do, because Arthur is still around and they need to be there to support Arthur. They cling to the hope of a new, better reign when Arthur becomes king.

The first day she brings him food, Arthur is silent and withdrawn, sitting with his knees to his chest on the straw pallet in the corner. The only sign that her presence is acknowledged is when his eyes glance up at her entrance into the cell before dropping back down to the floor. She sets the tray down beside him and tries to speak to him, just a simple “Arthur” and “how are you?” But he shakes his head and pays no more attention to her, as if she isn’t there in the first place.

It is the same when she brings his meals later that day and the next day, and every time, she takes back untouched trays to the kitchens                   

“Guineviere,” Arthur finally greets her on the third day, sounding surprised as if he hasn’t seen her bringing him food before.

“Arthur,” Gwen breathes a sigh of relief. “How are you feeling?”

And that, it seems, is the wrong thing to say, because the prince’s face twists with a strange mix of anger and anguish. He doesn’t answer her, instead glaring through the bars of the cell’s tiny windows.

“I’m sorry, I—” she begins to say before he cuts her off.

“Has Uther said anything?”

And this is new, Gwen notes to herself. Because Arthur has only ever called his father “Father” or “the king.” Never by his name.

“He…doesn’t mention you, sire,” she says. “He is angry, and…” She swallows the lump of fear and sadness stuck in her throat. “He’s hunting for more sorcerers again.”

Arthur growls and begins to pace. “And Morgana?”

“She and Uther…don’t speak very much anymore.” Gwen pauses before adding, “The last time they spoke, Uther threatened to lock her up to.”

Arthur huffs and remarks, “I wouldn’t expect any less from her.” And Gwen could _almost_ see a smile on his lips, but the next moment, he scowls and adds, “And I wouldn’t expect any less from _him_ either.”

“I’m sorry sire,” she says, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t be.” A pause. “What about Gaius?” he then asks, and Gwen’s heart sinks at the thought of the old doctor.

“Uther hasn’t accused him of anything, but Gaius, he fell ill after—” She can’t bear to finish the sentence. “He’ll be all right, but he won’t be the same.” In truth, she doesn’t think any of them will be the same.

Arthur curses under his breath, and his hands are clenched tight at his side, shaking with anger. He doesn’t touch his food until it’s grown cold, but Gwen kneels by his cell until he’s finished, giving him silent company.

 

* * *

 

His foul mood on that day lasts into the next. Then, on the fifth day, when she brings him his tray of food, Arthur doesn’t look at her, doesn’t speak, and doesn’t touch his food. After a long, worrying hour, Gwen turns to leave, unable to put off her other duties any longer. But soon as she takes a few steps away, she hears a sound she’s never heard Arthur make – low, wounded and guttural – and she turns just in time to see Arthur fling the tray across the cell. Before she can say a word, Arthur crumples to the floor, forehead and white-knuckled fists pressed to the dirt and tense shoulders shaking. Barely mended after Merlin’s death, her heart breaks at the sound of his choked cries, and she longs to hug him, but she knows she can’t help him in his grief and leaves to at least give him privacy.

 

* * *

 

Arthur is quiet again when she returns the next day. He apologizes for his behavior and the wasted food and says nothing more. Through the remaining days, he’s civil and quiet—saying hello, asking after her and Morgana and Gaius, and eating his meals, before withdrawing into himself again. Gwen worries what he will be like when he is set free. 

 

* * *

 

When seven days has passed and he is finally released from the dungeons, the Arthur they know is gone. In his place is Arthur Pendragon, the Crown Prince and First Knight of Camelot. Gone are the stubborn arrogance, the boyish smiles, and the good heart. Instead, there are dutiful pleasantries, brittle smiles that do not reach his eyes, and a heart surrounded by walls of ice.

Uther says nothing on the change.  

Morgana at first makes little taunts and jibs at Arthur, but Arthur does not snipe at her like he used to and she is still weary at Merlin’s loss.

Gwen fears that Arthur is lost to them; she catches Gaius looking upon him sadly, as if mourning Arthur along with Merlin.

And the people see the change as well. Stories are told, whispered from one to another until they travel across the kingdom, of an enchantment on the prince, of an illness the king refuses to reveal, of a missing manservant and a lost love. The people despair, and the land weeps at the loss of their golden prince.


End file.
